


sloom

by wisteria (orphan_account)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: I don't know what this evolved into but it wasn't what I was going for, M/M, this is sort of pre-slashy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/wisteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony sat down again, right next to Steve’s body, and it felt weird.</p>
<p>Because it looked like Steve was dead, lying there on the pavement, and it was like Tony had realized that already, and was just sitting, waiting for them to take the body. He wondered if this was what it was like to be dead, if you just had to wander like you were trapped in a bottle.</p>
<p>He went and sat on the other side of his body, and it felt weird and cold to see himself like that, from outside eyes. He’d only ever seen himself in the mirror or through a camera’s eyes, never his own, never like how he saw someone else. Now he could, though, and he didn’t feel like himself, and he wanted to throw up, throw up until everything was out of his stomach, and then throw up more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sloom

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been meaning to write this for a long time, and I had a summary of it written out, too. It’s a lot different from what I had originally, and I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing. ;///;

When it first happened, Steve didn’t quite realize it.

The blast—from whatever it had been—knocked him down, and there was a laugh that didn’t sound familiar, and then he was back on his feet. He only pondered for a second why he wasn’t feeling any pain, at all, but he ignored it and ran right back into the field.

He felt weightless, like a charm on a bracelet; he felt powerful in a different way, he felt delicate. And “delicate” is something he hasn’t felt for a long, long time.

And that’s when one of Clint’s arrows zipped right through his midriff. There was a moment of panic when he thought he had a hole in him, because still, no pain; but his flesh looked normal, if only a bit blue, and there was no hole in his stomach.

He turned and Clint was in earshot, so he yelled “ _Hawkeye_!” as loud as he could, and there was nothing.

His stomach lurched, but he felt perhaps it was psychological, because he wasn’t feeling anything from his body. He couldn’t feel the earth beneath his feet or the oxygen circulating in his lungs.

Steve ran to where Thor was and yelled his name, once again as loud as he could muster; Thor looked around, confused, and then worried.

“Teammates, do we have a read on the Captain? I swear by Odin he just yelled my name, but he is not near me, from what I can see.”

“I haven’t seen him for a bit,” Clint said, and if Steve could’ve thrown up, he would’ve. “Last I saw he was down by that alley, right?”

He didn’t hear anyone else’s responses, if there were any, because he did not have his communicator in his ear. In fact, he wasn’t wearing any of his uniform: just a t-shirt and jeans and a worn pair of sneakers.

“We’ll be there as soon as we can, Iron Man.” And that was Clint, and his voice did not sound good.

Steve ran to where his body was, and saw Tony shaking it. “Hey, hey, Cap, you there? Can you hear me, Captain? C’mon, don’t do this, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He had the faceplate up and his face was flushed from fighting for so long; his mouth was tugged in a deep frown, and he once again called for assistance.

“Tony?” Steve said, not yelling it this time, because maybe Tony could hear him, too.

His face was priceless; his eyes were blown wide and he scrambled up from where Steve’s body was laying and pulled up a hand, ready to fire.

Steve put his hands up. “No, Tony, it’s me, seriously, seriously, don’t shoot—wait,” Steve thought about it for a second: if nothing else could hurt him, then neither could Tony’s repulsers. “Okay, okay, you still don’t think it’s really me, but it is. I’ve been knocked out of my body or something, trust me, shoot me, shoot me.”

His brows furrowed contemplatively and then he shrugged (or Steve assumed he did; the suit drowned out a lot of Tony’s movements, and there was a small movement of his shoulders). Doing it slowly, as if it pained him, he fired it.

It past right through Steve and hit the building. “Whoops.” Tony said, small smile on his face. “So, am I hallucinating or something here?”

“Clint and Thor can’t see me, but Thor can hear me, I think?” Steve wore circles into his palm with his thumb and looked down. “Uh, my body’s still breathing though, right? I’m not—dead?”

Tony ignored the crack in Steve’s voice and shook his head. “You just seem to be in a coma, or something like that. The other Avengers should be here soon, I called for assistance like six times, but they’re slow as all hell.”

“They’re still fighting, Tony, you should be out there.” Steve was relieved to know that his voice could still grow stern.

“Yep, and leave your body here, uh-huh.” Tony sat down again, right next to Steve’s body, and it felt weird.

Because it looked like Steve was dead, lying there on the pavement, and it was like Tony had realized that already, and was just sitting, waiting for them to take the body. He wondered if this was what it was like to be dead, if you just had to wander like you were trapped in a bottle.

He went and sat on the other side of his body, and it felt weird and cold to see himself like that, from outside eyes. He’d only ever seen himself in the mirror or through a camera’s eyes, never his own, never like how he saw someone else. Now he could, though, and he didn’t feel like himself, and he wanted to throw up, throw up until everything was out of his stomach, and then throw up more.

“I’m probably just off my rocker here. You can’t really be knocked out of your body like that, that has to be impossible.” Tony was sitting with his knees up and his arms across them; he rested his chin on his arm and stared out. “They ought to be done soon, there’re only a few of those things left.”

As if on cue, Clint ran up, bow in hand. “Shit,” he muttered, running over and standing right where Steve (bodyless Steve) was sitting. Without word, Steve stood up and awkwardly moved away, and Tony snickered. “What happened, Iron Man? He’s breathing. You tried to wake him up and stuff, right?”

“Do you take me as a complete idiot, Hawkeye?” Tony stood now, and crossed his arms. “Can you see him?”

“Yeah, his body’s right here.” Clint’s voice was dubious, and he probably felt like he was about to be tricked.

Tony shook his head. “No, him,” and he pointed to where Steve stood, all blue and slightly translucent, and Steve wanted to hide somewhere.

And then he wasn’t there with Clint and Tony and his body, he was in a parking garage, deep in the corner holed up like a mouse. He panicked again, and then he was back, and Tony’s brows were raised. “Where did you go, just then?”

Clint looked spectacularly confused.

“I don’t know, I was in a parking garage, I think? I—I wanted to hide,” he admitted slowly, drawing out his words.

Clint still looked confused. “Tony, what the fuck is going on with you? There’s no one there.”

“Clint,” Tony said, turning towards him, “where’re Natasha and Thor and Bruce? They need to get over here, pronto, okay?”

Clint nodded and ran off, saying something in the comm about Tony possibly hitting his head and Steve being unconscious.

“So if you want to go somewhere because you feel you are in danger, or something similar, you can just go?” Tony raised a brow, but didn’t turn his head to face Steve. “That’d be incredibly useful if you were still in your body.”

“I know.” Steve remarked curtly, because he honestly did not care about what he could do in this form because  _he didn’t want to be in it._

It had been almost a year since their battle with Loki and they hadn’t seen him since (well, they did once, because Thor invited him to the Christmas party- it didn’t end well); they had just been fighting battles on smaller scales. Smaller villains, smaller armies, smaller brains, it seemed. But this was different, because someone had changed him and then left, and they didn’t know who they had been fighting.

So there was a high chance he’d be stuck like this for a long time, stuck being this, whatever it was. He scrunched his eyes shut, but he could still see little hints of the scene in front of him, like the sharp lines of the Iron Man armor and the form of his shield, lying there.

“I got everyone, Tony.” Clint’s voice held something Steve couldn’t read, and he assumed it was because he thought Tony had finally snapped.

“Okay,” Tony said, standing up. “Can anyone else see him? –And not the fucking body, I mean the weird bluish Steve that’s sitting like he’s died over there. Please, please tell me someone else can see him.”

Bruce and Clint exchanged looks, and Thor wore one of confusion. It was one they had all seen often.

Natasha just started to walk over to Steve, listless Steve, and she checked for his pulse. Then she got up, stared at bodyless Steve, and walked towards him. She cautiously stuck her hand right through his stomach, and then she stepped back. “Well, fuck.” She hushed, moving over to Tony.

“Yes, oh god, thank god I’m not going crazy, oh thank the lord, yes, yes, yes!” Tony did what could be described as trying to jump, but the suit wouldn’t allow him to, so he just flailed his arms about eagerly.

“Honestly, I think you and Natasha are both going crazy.” Clint had only muttered it, and the glare that Natasha shot him would be one for the books.

“Clint Barton,” she growled, “If it was only Tony seeing him, then yeah, it’d be Tony going crazy. But I don’t lie about shit like this, and neither do my eyes. We need to go to S.H.I.E.L.D. right away, right now, ASAP, let’s go.”

“We have to hide his—erm, body, from the public. I don’t think this would be a very good thing for the media to sink their teeth into.” Bruce crossed his arms over his bare chest; his pants survived the Hulk changing, which was good and was slowly becoming not so much of a rarity. “And, if this is any indicator, only some can see him. It’d probably be a howler if one journalist could and the other couldn’t, so I think we need to try our best to keep this completely under wraps.”

“He’s right,” Steve said, nearly having caught himself from speaking. It didn’t feel like they were talking about him, because he was right there and their words just floated around him, never registering. They couldn’t hear him, and they couldn’t see him, aside from Natasha and Tony.

“Steve said he’s right,” Tony repeated, glancing once at Steve and then back to Bruce. “If we had me airlift his body anywhere, someone could see. We’re going to have to call in S.H.I.E.L.D. for the whole shebang: creepy cars, millions of agents, all of that.”

Everyone nodded and not three minutes later, black suburbans flooded the streets. Steve’s body was loaded in the backseat of one, propped up, and buckled in.

Only two of the agents could see Steve, but Tony made them give him a seat in the car Tony was riding in. “I saw your face when Clint stood on you, and while it gave me a good chuckle, you looked largely uncomfortable.” He clobbered into the car with his suit on, and set the helmet in the middle seat.

“Thanks,” Steve said slowly, noticing that they picked one of the agents who could see him to drive. He wasn’t sure if that was Tony’s doing or not, but he was thankful regardless.

He was a bit surprised, too, because normally he and Tony were nothing more than acquaintances, than colleagues. They quit the heavy bickering a month or so after the battle with Loki, but they still clashed all too frequently; on-field, they worked together without qualm, because Iron Man and Captain America got along. When they weren’t on duty, it was back to bickering, because Steve Rogers and Tony Stark didn’t get along. They argued about strategy and execution, about Howard and Maria, about everything, they argued about it all. Steve distinctly remembered their argument about sushi, and he shuddered; if Tony noticed, he didn’t say anything.

That’s the thing, though. Tony would normally jump on that, he’d use it to start some battle of words, because he never missed an opportunity. As far as Steve was concerned, they weren’t on battle anymore, and when they weren’t on they argued.

Lately, though, there had been a change in Tony; he was more lethargic, and his insults were watered down. He was fine in battle, but Steve assumed that was because while he was fighting, he was Iron Man, and Iron Man didn’t have any emotional baggage, but Tony did.

Some nights, while Steve was up and roaming the mansion (he didn’t stay there every night, for he favored his apartment, but it was nice to be surrounded by a team—by the closest thing he had to family), he’d see Tony drift in and out.

Lately, there had been no drifting. Tony only seemed to come up from the workshop when he was nearing starvation, or when they were called out. None of the Avengers said anything, but he could tell when they were holding their tongues.

None of them knew if they should try to help Tony, because he was always so dead-set on helping himself. Sometimes, wordlessly, they’d bring him food and set it by the door. Sometimes, it would be gone, and sometimes, it would remain untouched.

Steve worried about him because Steve always worries, and they didn’t have to be super-great-pals for him to know something was going on. But he knew, at the same time, that Tony wouldn’t want his help; he’d probably rather die than accept Steve Rogers’ help (though it was not to be said that he would deny Captain America’s).

Steve never asked, though, he just began to leave food more often. He was sure that Tony didn’t care to know who it was; Steve just wanted to make sure that he knew someone was there, that they were all there.

He  _wanted_  to know what was bugging Tony, though, he really did. He tried asking Thor (“something’s a matter with the fair Tony?”), Clint (“I’m pretty sure he just does this all the time,”), Bruce (“Tony’s a special case, but I’m not so sure myself, Steve.”), and finally Natasha, who shook her head and said “He’ll tell us when he’s ready”. But Steve knew that she knew already, because Natasha knows everything.

 Still, Steve wasn’t so sure why Tony was suddenly being—he couldn’t think of an apt word, because they weren’t friends, but Tony wasn’t arguing. It wasn’t even like he was trying to hold back and not insult, like Steve had seen many times before (always, always in the presence of Fury); he was just acting normal, as normal as Tony Stark could be.

“Uh, earth to Cap?” Tony waved his hand in front of Steve’s face. “We arrived, let’s go, Casper.”

“Casper?”

Tony just waved him off and, surprisingly, opened the car door for Steve.

They didn’t say anything as they walked in, and Tony’s Iron Man boots smacked the floor, growing louder and louder as he led what could be described as a troop down the hallways of S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Where are we going, Tony?”

“They’re taking your body to medical to run tests, and I’m taking you to Fury with Natasha.”

Steve hadn’t even noticed Natasha on the left of him; when he looked at her, she nodded briskly and then took the lead, flashing her I.D. at every stop and flashing a glare at every guard to even think of stopping them.

When they reached Fury’s office, Coulson was just walking in; he gave them weird looks and then held the door for them.

Fury was facing the window and had his back to the door. He slowly turned, clearly not giving up on the dramatics. “So it’s true,” he said slowly, face unreadable, “Captain Rogers has, in fact, been knocked out of his body.”

“Pardon?” Coulson said, face blank but voice containing something akin to worry; he looked around the room again, and then zeroed on Tony. “Stark,” he said, voice low.

“Wish I could say it was me, Agent. That’d be some technology.”

Coulson made a face, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Natasha interjected, voice unmitigated. “Fury can see you, and if that isn’t a blessing, I’m not sure what is.”

Fury, Tony, and Steve all nodded at the same time, but Coulson sat in the corner, clutching his coffee cup tightly.

“How’d it happen, Captain?” Fury asked, taking a seat; Natasha and Tony sat as well, but Steve didn’t know if he should take the last empty chair or not, so he stood in between them.

“It was during the mission, clearly, and I was shot in the stomach. It didn’t hurt, I noticed, and there was—what I thought was a laugh, but I’m not entirely sure on that.  And then I realized I wasn’t aching anywhere, and that I felt light, and then one of Clint’s arrows, erm, flew through me.”

Fury nodded. “That’s enough, but I want the full report later. Go down to medical, see what’s going on, and take one of those two with you.”

He pointed at Tony and Natasha, and Tony snorted. “C’mon, it was like two months ago that you said you ‘didn’t want me to corrupt the good captain’. Change of heart?”

“You were trying to get Bruce to concoct something that could get him intoxicated.”

“He needed to lighten up!”

“Just get the fuck out of my office.”

They stepped out and all three began to head towards medical; Steve half expected Tony to leave then—he was still in the suit, even. “Oh, man, Coulson is so fucking mad that he can’t see you. This is great.”

Natasha shoved his shoulder, and he staggered back. “Hey now, Tasha, that was just rude.”

“I told you not to call me Tasha.” Her voice was smiling, and she seemed a bit happy, which was something rare around Tony (or, really, around anyone).

Steve tried not to linger behind them, but he couldn’t help it. He felt like he was watching everyone through mirrored glass, and they all acted like he was there, but they were just going crazy. He felt almost omnipresent, like oxygen or clouds—you knew they were there, but you couldn’t touch them, you couldn’t reach them.

“You fine back there, Cap?”

“I’m about as fine as someone who’s out of their body can be, Tony.”

***

In medical, they said his body was in a coma, and that it was extremely unlikely that his body would awaken while he was still—whatever he was, not in it.

He expected as much.

***

Steve decided that he didn’t want to go back to his apartment, because it was ghoulish and no one could see him there (it, surprisingly, wasn’t because Fury had told him not to go in public anywhere), so he went back to the mansion. Everyone was there, talking in hushed tones, so he left the room.

He knew they were talking about what they could do, and he knew he’d probably be a help, but he didn’t feel like hovering.

Steve drifted to his room, quite literally, and sat on his bed. He was mildly surprised he didn’t fall through, and as soon as he thought it, he did.

You really don’t know how peculiar the inside of a mattress is until you’re in it, he thought.

He stood up and went over to his desk, where his drawing pencils were laid out (they were one of the few personal items he kept in this room, besides clothing and novels). He wondered if he could pick one up, if he really tried.

He couldn’t.

He felt like flipping the desk up, like punching the wall, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything except for creep and watch people, and he didn’t want to—he had watched enough today, he’d watched enough when he was scrawny.

It made him feel like that, all over again, like he didn’t matter, like he couldn’t ripple a pond’s glass surface. He felt like he was a shadow of a person, and in some ways, he realized he was.

Steve sat for hours and thought, because he didn’t know what else to do.

He tried sleeping, but he couldn’t. He’d close his lids, but they were rice-paper-thin, and he could still see the room played out with geometric shapes.

Then someone came in, and he realized that he didn’t close the door, and then he remembered that he couldn’t. He had been lying on the floor for lord knows how long, staring at the ceiling.

“Hey, Steve,” it was Tony, he could tell by how he didn’t step in the room, how he wavered just outside of it. “We’re gonna watch a movie, if you want to see it, we’ll be in the living room.” And then he was gone, and Steve figured that it was something he could do.

He got to the living room and the Avengers were all cooped up. Natasha was lying across a chair she had turned around, and Clint was leaning against it and sitting on the floor. Thor was outstretched in the middle of the floor with around forty pillows keeping his head up, and Bruce was sitting on the couch with Tony.

Steve realized that Tony probably saved the last seat on the couch for him, but he still wasn’t sure (at least, that’s what he kept saying- he knows that rarely are other people invited). Steve was about to walk to the other open chair when Tony flicked his head to the side and smiled crookedly. 

Steve walked over and sat, gaining a smile from Natasha. No one else said anything about it, and for a bit, they bantered about what movie to watch—Thor was insisting on  _Barbie and Swan Lake_ , because Loki had given it to him. His idea was shot down immediately, but he only looked sad for a moment.

They finally decided on some apocalypse-war movie, but Steve couldn’t even remember the title of the movie, because he was thinking, and thinking, but then he just stopped—he’d have plenty time to think when he was alone, while they were carrying out missions without him.

There were a lot of explosions in the movie, which was nice and distracting. Thor yelped a few times when things would explode without warning, and Steve even saw Tony flinch a few times (but he did not, however, think it was because he was caught off guard; it was another thing entirely).

Whenever the team watched a movie, they didn’t do a lot of watching. They spent a lot of time disputing what could actually happen, or bagging on the character development, or the shitty placebo relationships. None of them minded it, though, because it was nice, and it felt like they were stitched together by blood from mothers and not blood from foes.

That night, though, it was mostly quiet. Steve wished it could’ve felt normal, but to four out of the six, the seat next to Tony was empty. Because Steve was allowed to feel empty himself, right?

Bruce retired to bed before the movie was over, spewing fierce apologies, but everyone was used to him going to bed early. He liked to wake up before dawn, so he could see the sunrise. He didn’t miss anything aside from the protagonist falling in love with the token female, and then having to save her from evil’s clutches as soon as he professed his love. Then they kissed and the movie was over and Clint was making gagging noises.

“That was a really dumb ending,” he said, coughing a bit after Thor thought he was choking and slapped his back, “I mean, seriously. Of course he fell for that chick, she’s hot. But she was a total bitch, too. It would’ve been way better if he just gave up or something and let her die or whatever.”

Everyone laughed wryly, and then Natasha stalked off to bed. Thor grabbed some food before going to his room, and Clint said he wanted to go to the shooting range that was near the gym that Tony had put in.

Steve didn’t know where to go, so he sat for a bit longer.

“You know, if you haven’t got anything to do, I don’t mind having people watch me while I work. I have to do some upgrades on Iron Man, so…”

Tony Stark was excellent at reading people, it was how he dealt with them that led to the misconception that he couldn’t tell what people wanted. “That sounds great,” Steve said, standing up to follow Tony. “Thanks.”

Tony just waved him off and grabbed some coffee.

Steve watched Tony work for a long time, and it was nearing eight a.m. when he realized that Tony hadn’t slept at all. “Tony, shouldn’t you go to bed or take a nap or something?”

He pointed to one of the many coffee mugs that littered his shop and made a noncommittal noise.

“Seriously, Tony.” Steve brought out the Captain America voice, hoping it’d help. “It was a rough battle yesterday, you ought to rest.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine, mom, I’ll get some sleep.” He started to pack up his things, and Steve’s mouth was slacked open. He really hadn’t thought that Tony would give up so easily.

Tony was walking up the stairs when Steve had to ask him. “Why’d you save that seat on the couch for me?”

When Tony turned around, there was something weird in his facial expression, but it was cleared quickly. “Because I know what it feels like to be stranded, and it’s not a good feeling.”

He left before Steve could say anything else.

And then Steve was staring at his own blue sneakers and the floor that was hinted beneath them.

***

One day, the Avengers were called out for a battle.

Tony turned on the T.V. so he could at least watch what was going on. Natasha said she’d make sure Tony didn’t fuck everything up, and she smiled sweetly, too, but he knew it was only sympathetic.

It went fine, and there were no casualties, and none of the Avengers were hurt reasonably.

None of them were exiled from their bodies, either, and while Steve was thankful, he wanted to be back in his own body. He needed information on who did this, and why they did it—at first, maybe he thought it was Loki, but Steve wasn’t all so sure he was capable. Then again, he’d done some rather amazing things, terrible things, but they were jaw-dropping.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when they all returned home, covered in grime and sweat and all feeling a hair more than pissed off.

“That was the dumbest fucking battle ever,” Tony said as he entered the room, “like fuck we’re ever dealing with that again. Call the Fantastic 4 or some shit, not  _us_.”

“Tony.” Steve said, raising his brows.

Tony placed both hands on his hips. “No, no, you weren’t there. They released goddamn hamster robots, Steve, hundreds upon thousands of _mechanical hamsters_.”

Steve and Natasha snickered, but Thor, Bruce, and Clint looked out of place.

Eventually they all parted ways to shower or sleep, and once again, Steve didn’t know what to do with himself. He wandered the mansion for a while, holding his arm out and letting his fingers dip into the wall.

He wanted to go down to the workshop, just to look, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to break anything. But Tony wasn’t down there, and he didn’t want to infringe upon his privacy, so Steve went to his own room and laid on his floor again—which, he thought, might become routine.

“God, Steve,” a voice said; he could tell they were scoffing by the notes in their tone. “Do you do this even when you’ve got your body?”

Steve snorted. “No, of course not. There’s just nothing to do.”

“Yeah, well, tonight I’m going to be upgrading your armor so if you’d like input, you should come down. Meaning, if you don’t come down, you’re going to be in short shorts. Not that anyone but you would object, but,”

Steve said “say no more”, but it echoed around him, because he realized he had vanished into the workshop. So he  _could_  will himself places.

Tony appeared a few minutes later, and he smiled and joked a bit (“I was hoping you poofed somewhere else, because I had a great idea for the shorts”) before completely changing his speech so he could talk about Steve’s armor.

***

Steve hanging out with Tony became routine.

Tony would work in the lab, or maybe they'd watch a movie (or four). It became normal, it felt normal, it felt okay. 

*** 

Steve sat around the whole day, and if he could feel his skin, he was sure it would be crawling. He couldn’t exercise or punch a punching bag or even go for a run, because he couldn’t leave. He had been thinking a lot, especially about Tony; he hadn’t been staying so holed up, which was nice.

But Steve finally figured out why he had been that way in the first place. Well, he had a fairly good idea of why.

He’d been running over ideas of why all day, when it finally dawned on him: Pepper Potts. It had to be; he’d been the same way when he woke up and it finally hit him that they were all gone, that Peggy was gone. He just holed himself up, similar to the way he was now, and he should’ve noticed the parallels sooner.

Pepper didn’t come around anymore; they weren’t on the phone constantly; she didn’t always call to check up on him after a battle; and Tony, Tony tried to disappear. He tried to be as insignificant as possible, perhaps even to himself, as a way to try to deal with it. He locked himself away like a fairy tale’s dragon: it was by his own motivation, but not entirely his own choice.

When it clicked in Steve’s mind, he immediately went to Natasha, who was watching a documentary on something-or-other. “Pepper broke up with Tony?”

“Pepper broke up with Tony.” She reiterated, breaking away the inflection of the question.

Steve sat next to her and nodded. “I feel like I should talk to Tony about it, but he would’ve told us, you know?”

“Talk to Tony about what?” He was standing in the doorway, arms holding numerous food and drink items. He had a slight grin on his face.

Steve would’ve flushed, and Natasha got up without a word and stepped out.

“Uh,” Steve said, twiddling his thumbs, “I figured out, er, that you and Pepper broke up?”

His smile fell and his eyes narrowed. “Did Natasha tell you?”

“No, no, I figured it out, she just… Affirmed it. I’m sorry, Tony, if you didn’t want me to figure out…”

He shrugged casually, but his face was stony. “It’s fine, I mean, you all would find out eventually. I’m surprised you guys didn’t find out sooner, really.” He began to walk down the steps to his workshop.

“Tony—”

“No, seriously, it’s fine, it’s really fine.” He was quick to disappear down the stairs and Steve didn’t follow, because he knew he wasn’t wanted.

So he sat and finished up the documentary (which was on turtles, Thor joined him at some point) and waited for Tony to come back up.

He didn’t.

He didn’t for hours, he didn’t until the sun came up, and he made it to the top of the stairs before falling. “Sssteve, I bet chu just feel so sawry for me, don’cha? Poor Tony, heartbroken Tony…”

Steve was on his feet immediately, but he realized he wouldn’t be able to help Tony anywhere. “I’m sorry it didn’t work, Tony, I’m not sorry for you.”

“Fffff,” he laughed boisterously and tried to stand; he made it, surprisingly, and then leaned heavily on the wall. “It’s sad, it’s real sad, ‘cause I can’t keep anyone here, not even Pep.”

“Tony, we’re all here for you. We could’ve helped you through it—if, if you need it, we can still help you now. I can help, Tony,”

Tony snorted. “Cap, you’re just a ghost. You’re just as useful as when you were in tha ice.”

Steve flinched, and then he was in his room; but his room in his apartment in Brooklyn, and, as to be with tradition, he laid on his floor for a long, long time.

He hated how that hurt him, but he hated how it was true; he couldn’t do anything in the ice, and he couldn’t do anything now. His body was lying in a hospital bed, and he was lying in his room, lying to himself.

He hated how Tony had said that, but he hated how he overheard. He had infringed on Tony’s private life because he just had to think about it, had to think about it until it clicked.

He was angry at himself for not trying to help more before. If Steve was being honest, though, it probably would’ve made everything worse between them—but he still wasn’t sure how they had become friends, or why Tony had helped him. “ _I know how it feels to be stranded_ ” played over and over in his head, like a record, like gunshots sounding off.

And then he was on the couch in the mansion, but no one was there; the TV had been left on, though, and the screen was flickering, showing him the Avengers, all in formation (a spot left open for him, he noticed with a pang).

He looked closely, and all of them were injured. He didn’t know how long he had been at his apartment, but it was evidently a long time. The sun was high in the sky, and clouds swirled around it, slowly growing darker and darker as Thor brewed a storm.

He kept watching, and watching; they were getting pounded, hurt, destroyed, and he was angry. So, so irrationally angry, because he should be helping, he should be out there.

So he went to the middle of the grounds where they were fighting, and he stood there like a stone. He couldn’t even make out who they were fighting; it looked like a thick, black shadow, made of oil, oozing around.

There was a laugh, and it rang in his ears, and he noticed it was silkily familiar, like the taste of a food you haven’t eaten since you were a child.

And then Tony was right next to him, thanks to a completely ungraceful landing.

“Tony, are you okay?”

“I’m, uh, sure. Let’s call it okay.” He fired a few beams at one of the charcoal things.

Tony zoomed over to where a swarm was harassing Natasha, and they both began to fight them off. But they kept coming, droning in, and he yelled at her to “get the fuck out, right fucking now”; though she seemed reluctant, she complied.

Then the molten things began to mass themselves together, making a tidal wave of hell, of oozing, black hell.

Steve was running before he could register it, running straight to Tony, because he wouldn’t move. He was standing there, like a child would look up at the grim reaper, and Steve was yelling, but his voice sounded scratchy and then there were no words coming from his mouth at all, and he felt like nothing, like a pair of eyes floating.

And then there was a crunch of debris, and he nearly fell over, because there was earth under his feet again, he could feel it. There was air in his lungs, he was in his body, he had to be. So he kept running, and he was nearly there, and Tony was just staring at him, faceplate up.

“Move, Tony, for Christ’s sake, move!” Steve slowed a bit as he saw what Tony mouthed to him: “ _I can’t._ ”

Steve began running again; he felt like the adrenaline was going to crawl up his throat, he felt like his eyes were going to slip from his head, and everything was so slow, so slow.

The next thing he felt was himself smashing against the Iron Man armor, effectively pushing him out of the way. His ears were ringing with the laugh, over and over, and it still hadn’t completely registered for him that he was in his body, there was the laugh, he got to Tony in time, he could feel himself breathe, he loved Tony, and then the laugh, louder than it’s ever been.

He pulled himself up from Tony, because everything hurt: his arms, his legs, his chest, his head. They were all pulsing and throbbing, and his stomach growled and he felt woozy. Tony rose slowly, too, and his eyes were wide. “They’re gone,” he said, slowly, as if he didn’t believe it. “And shit, oh my god, you’re in your body. Shit.”

Steve tried to keep his focus on breathing, because he was feeling so out of it, so out of it.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry, Steve. I really didn’t—I didn’t mean what I said, I just, I just had pushed the break up out of my head and then you found out and—I didn’t want you to know that was why I had been, ah, cooped up. I’m sorry, fuck, oh my god.”

Steve nodded slowly, barely registering that the others were screaming his name.

And then, he thought that this felt more like dying than being shoved out of his body. So he moved over to Tony and kissed him, lightly, just because he could.

“Oh,” was all Tony said when he pulled away. Steve fell back onto the pavement and stared at the sky, relieved to know that his ritual was being upheld.

“Yes.” Steve said, letting his breathing calm; he was starting to feel better, but his arms and legs were on pins and needles.

“…Yes what?”

“Yes, I’ll go out with you,” He chuckled, but it sounded more like raspy breaths.

Tony stood up immediately. “Okay, fine, but first we need to get you to medical. God, god, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that earlier. Shit shit shit. Okay, okay, up up, let’s go.”

Again, there were tons of deeply colored S.H.I.E.L.D. cars surrounding them, and again, Tony opened the door for Steve, and he would’ve remarked about it if he didn’t feel like he was going to faint.

***

It was hilarious to see the medical staff in such a state of alarm, but it was even funnier to see their faces when they walked in with Steve.

Tony, for the first time, listened closely to what the doctor had to say (but only up to the point where he said Steve would be fine once he regained the strength in his body).

***

In the pocket of the jeans Steve was wearing when he woke up, there was a note. 

"I only changed you back because I know what it feels like to love someone who you simply cannot lay a finger on. But, let it be said that I was not the one who changed you in the first place, and this does not mean we are on good terms, Captain. It just means that I do have a heart, contrary to everyone's belief." 

There didn't need to be a signature for Steve to know who left it.

***

“Oh my  _god_ ,” Clint said, crossing his arms with a huff, “this is just as bad as the last movie we watched. Who the hell writes the romance for these movies, anyways? Is it Fury? I can’t think of anyone else who could do such a terrible job.”

“Well, Clint, if you’ve got such a problem with them, maybe you should go write them.” Bruce’s voice hardly carried across the room.

“Maybe I should.” He said matter-of-factly; Natasha bonked his head playfully, which was by leaps and bounds her kindest way of saying  _shut your mouth_.

This time, they were watching a movie about zombies, and it was terrible. Thor was splayed across the floor, once again; Clint and Natasha were in their usual spots, and Bruce was in the other chair. Steve and Tony were sprawled on the couch, with Tony crookedly draped over Steve’s chest. If anyone asked, it was because it was warm, but he especially liked how when Steve laughed, his chest would rumble.

“So, Natasha, if I got knocked from my body, would you fall in love with me?”

“I’d disown you, Clint.”


End file.
